


Palace on the hill

by theglitterbee



Category: One Direction (Band), The Happy Prince - Oscar Wilde, The Selfish Giant - Oscar Wilde
Genre: Fables - Freeform, Gen, Gothic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 00:50:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3508994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theglitterbee/pseuds/theglitterbee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Holmes Chapel you were awarded blissfulness as long as you didn’t question where it had come from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Palace on the hill

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by "The Happy Prince", "The Selfish Giant" and "Edward Scissorhands".
> 
> I recommend listening to ["Castle On The Hill"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y3W28bQGx9U) and ["The Grand Finale"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AFmkjBqkloA) by Danny Elfman.

High above the city, on a rugged column, stood a golden plaque that read _Never forget_. Its swirly and elegant letters had lost all meaning to the citizens of Holmes Chapel.

By the time Harry was old enough to ask his mother what that plaque meant and where it had come from, Anne couldn’t offer him a real answer.

Legend had it the plaque had always been there. Some believed it was as old as the town itself; others regarded it as a memorandum of something which, ironically, they could not remember.

When Anne was a little child, her mother had taught her the plaque was more than a reminder; it was a warning.

Anne didn’t tell Harry so. Instead, she caressed his hair and smiled. “It doesn’t mean anything, dear” she whispered, guiding him back to the main street in town.

Holmes Chapel was a picturesque village. Its houses were small and colourful, their gardens were extravagant and well cared for. Life was easy there.

One of the most ancient houses in town had the prettiest garden Harry had ever seen. Although nobody lived there anymore and the blue tiles were broken and the paint had faded, citizens cared a great deal about the vast garden that surrounded it, for they had all grown up climbing its trees and smelling its roses. The origins of the house were unknown to Holmes Chapel’s inhabitants.

Harry’s grandparents believed that many, many years ago, long before either of them was even born, a big and burly man had used to live there. They were convinced that he had loved children’s laughter so much, that he had never wanted his garden to be stripped from it. He had wanted kids to play in his garden because that way he would never feel alone again.

When he passed away, his open invitation became immortal and even though people started forgetting who he was, they never forgot his majestic garden.

Children all ages were drawn to it and grown-ups did not question their affection because they had felt it too while growing up.

In spite of loving Holmes Chapel, the plants shaped like animals and the shiny statues that decorated the streets, Harry felt out of place.

In Holmes Chapel the Sun shone brighter and the birds sang louder than anywhere else. His home was peaceful and he never had any problems of any kind.

Rain in Holmes Chapel glistened and sparkled in the air, illuminating the humble houses and their quirky colours.

Holmes Chapel looked like a painting that Harry hoped would never change. Even so, he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to be a part of that painting.

The following years went by slowly, quietly. Children never cried, grown-ups never screamed. Holmes Chapel remained the most perfect town there ever was.

When Harry turned sixteen he sat on the hill, next to the stubby column and the plaque, and looked down on his beautiful town. Houses, trees and neat lanes were covered in pristine snow and Harry felt as though he was trapped inside a snow globe. He wanted to be set free.

He scanned the landscape over and over again, willing himself to preserve this image in his memory forever, for nothing would ever be as beautiful as his home when it was snowing.

“Never forget” he mumbled softly, wondering what it really meant.

He stood on his feet and turnt around, facing the Forbidden Palace. No one was allowed into it and every boy and girl in town learnt not to question that rule before they even learnt how to read.

During sixteen years of his life, Harry never dared think about the place. Whatever or whoever hid behind the lofty wall was none of his business. Everything worked that way in Holmes Chapel. You were awarded blissfulness as long as you didn’t question where it had come from.

Knowing he shouldn’t, Harry stared at the Palace and the way that moonlight hit its broken windows and snow covered the tattered gargoyles. The Palace wasn’t beautiful in the way that his town was. It wasn’t colourful nor happy. It was dark and lonely, and Harry felt so bad for it. He wanted to make it shine.

Unable to stop himself, he dragged his feet through the snow and halted to a stop when he reached the wall. He noticed that the main gate wasn’t closed.

He could walk in, take a peak and then just go back home. Nobody would have to know. It would be his and the Forbidden Palace’s secret.

Except there were no secrets in Holmes Chapel. Nobody ever lied, nobody ever hurt anybody. Holmes Chapel was a dreamland and Harry was not certain that satisfying his curiosity was worth the risk of waking up.

He gulped and looked behind him, towards the warm lights and the safety that his family and his friends could provide him. As much as he loved Holmes Chapel, he had never felt happy there. The colours were radiant, but empty. The smiles were content, but hopeless. There were no adventures in Holmes Chapel. Everything was _too_ perfect.

He licked his lips and then crossed the threshold. A swallow landed on his shoulder and he smiled at it. He took it in his hands to keep it warm and kept on walking towards the cavernous stairs. They looked as though nobody had stepped a foot on them for centuries.

He rounded a water fountain and strolled past it.

The bird was cold in his hands, the trees’ shadows were monstrous and followed his every move, and Harry still didn’t want to go back. This was the only adventure he had ever had. He was frightened and that… that was something he enjoyed. This thrill and his rapid heartbeat wouldn’t have been possible back home. He belonged here, in the darkness, in the unknown.

He stopped himself in his tracks when he finally made it to the stairs. The grand arched door creaked open and he watched expectantly as a petit figure made itself known. It was a boy around Harry’s age; his brown hair was dishevelled and he was wearing gray clothes Harry had only seen in history books. His skin was pale and his blue eyes were downcast. He looked lonely and cold, very much like his deserted Palace.

Harry had to make a decision. He could stop right there and go back. Holmes Chapel would accept him, he knew that. He could live the rest of his life there, never questioning anything, never feeling anything.

Or he could stay here, with the sad and lonely boy that was offering him the adventure he had yearned for his entire life.

Smiling, Harry planted a firm foot on the stone and went up the stairs.

He never looked back.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this :)
> 
> [This is my Tumblr](http://theglitterbee.tumblr.com). Come say hi!


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